


Loyal

by Defiler_Wyrm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Cock Bondage, Come Swallowing, Covert Operation, Date Rape, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feminization, Figging, First Time Blow Jobs, HYDRA Trash Party, Historical, Humiliation, Hydra (Marvel), Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Politics, Praise Kink, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier POV, honeypot mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defiler_Wyrm/pseuds/Defiler_Wyrm
Summary: In the tumultuous year of 1974, the Winter Soldier infiltrates the Cypriot National Guard to get a bead on a slippery target. The only way to get what he needs is to get close to a general who wants to get much too close for comfort, but he must succeed by any means necessary. It's just...he's never used these means before.During his post-mission debrief, his handler gets an idea.“Do you mind if I get more comfortable as well?” Hanas stood, hands already on his polished buttons.It was a rhetorical question that required an affirmative answer. The Soldier’s masters sometimes did the same. “By all means,” he said, careful to slur a little.“Why don’t you do the same,” Hanas rumbled. That wasn’t really a suggestion, either.And all at once the Soldier realised what this was.Please mind the tags.





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> For the hydratrashmeme prompt: "At some point during his "career", the WS is ordered to kill a difficult to find target. 
> 
> To get close to said target, though, he has to infiltrate (organization, political party of author's choice).
> 
> Unbeknownst even to Hydra, the leader of this group is gay, and a pervert, who likes how the WS looks. Now, the WS is ordered to complete the mission - and will not fail at any cost, in fear or punishment.
> 
> So, he allows himself to be fucked, humiliated, abused if it gets him to finish his mission.
> 
> Bonus points if after (succeeding) the mission he gets raped some more by Hydra goons because now they know they CAN."

Wheels had been turning in Cyprus for years. The next phase was soon to come, but Tarquin Galanos could ruin it all with the wrong word in the right ear.

Hydra wouldn’t stand for that.

He was slippery, for a military man. The Ethnikí Frourá protected his whereabouts for some reason, and Hydra’s best agents hadn’t been able to ferret him out. Well. Their second best, anyway. Their best was on his way.

They inserted a body double three weeks ago – one of their most trustworthy and talented assets. With the general state of unrest, it wasn’t difficult to manufacture Athanasios Vasilakis, mid-ranking member of the Special Forces, and secure him a place in a high-profile event for the National Guard. Not quite a gala, nevertheless it would provide the opportunities the Fist of Hydra needed to ferret out Galanos’ whereabouts.

Parties were not his forte. He was a creature of silence and shadow, of mayhem and blood. The uniform he wore was perfectly-fitted, complete with a silicone sleeve to mask his left arm as flesh, but he couldn’t have felt more ill-suited to this social venue. So much movement, so many voices and noises – it made him jumpy, overstimulated.

The Hydra-loyal officer who was showing him around led him by the elbow (the right one, thank god, he wouldn’t feel anything amiss) towards a broad-shouldered man with hawkish golden eyes and a general’s insignia. Not Galanos, but the primary target for information on where to find him. A month’s work by an entire division had led up to this moment.

“General Hanas,” his guide introduced, “may I present Commander Athanasios Vasilakis. He’s distinguished himself at Morfou and has shown exceeding loyalty to _the cause_.”

“An honor, Sir.” He snapped a salute.

Hanas and his guide shared a significant look, and the general regarded the man called Athanasios. Those piercing eyes lingered up and down his form.

“That hair isn’t regulation,” he remarked, one eyebrow raised. “But I’m sure there is much about you that is extraordinary.”

Extraordinary, indeed. The Winter Soldier couldn’t have told him why Hydra kept his hair long. It wasn’t a combat decision, therefore it wasn’t his to make. His input would have meant nothing even if he bothered to form an opinion.

It took a moment to remember that he was expected to take part in conversation here. This _really_ wasn’t his forte. “I’m flattered that you think so, General.”

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” His guide smiled and took his leave. For a moment the Soldier felt completely adrift in a strange world. Then the general was pressing a drink, ouzo by the smell of it, into his hand, and his focus narrowed. Failure was not an option. He would obtain the necessary intelligence by any means necessary.

The general’s fingers drifted slowly across his own as he took the glass. He watched this with vague interest, distantly aware that this was a telegraph of things to come, and then made eye contact. He held it as he drank. Hanas smiled like he was keeping a secret.

By any means necessary.

 

-o-

 

General Hanas kept him close at hand, often drifting into his personal space to speak quietly – for his ears only. He handed Athanasios, as he addressed the Soldier after the first half-hour, drink after drink. It occurred to the Soldier that a normal human would be well on his way to intoxicated. To avoid arousing suspicion, he began speaking slower, and purposefully moved with less grace. This seemed to please Hanas, who praised his ability to hold his liquor.

It was easy to let Hanas drive conversation; less easy to select the most ideal answer or even anticipate when his input was required. This mission was nothing if not challenging. This, too, pleased the general. Powerful men did seem to enjoy hearing themselves speak.

“I’d like to discuss your future within the Guard,” Hanas said after approximately one hour, fifty minutes, and seven drinks (Hanas himself was working on number three). “In private.”

“Athanasios” held his eye again as he drained the last of his wine, then ducked his head to set the glass on a nearby table. “By your leave, Sir,” he murmured.

Hanas led him out of the hotel ballroom, to the elevators, and ultimately into his suite. Two men stood guard outside the door. The Soldier took stock as they entered: files and books piled high on a desk and other surfaces. Firearms in at least three locations. Bottles of alcohol that could be drugged. A kitchenette full of fresh produce. A single, expansive bed.

The click of locks sliding into place. A hand at the small of his back.

This would be the room where he truly gained Hanas’ confidence. He just wasn’t certain why they hadn’t sent a Widow to do it instead.

Oh well. He banished the thought. It was never his place to question his masters.

The general’s shoulder pressed into his as the man came around to face him. Deft fingers plucked at his tie. “Make yourself more comfortable. Wine or ouzo? You seem to have a taste for both.”

Ugh, decisions. Officially he had no opinion, but very privately he hated decision-making when it wasn’t related to combat. Decisions complicated matters, and he was accustomed to a very simple life: his handler commanded him, and he obeyed. If he failed, he was punished. If he succeeded...if he did well enough, his handler might stroke his hair and give him a few words of praise. Making decisions meant a larger chance that he might fail.

Nevertheless, he considered. The ethanol content of most alcoholic beverages was too low to compete with the raging furnace of his metabolism; at best, grain alcohol gave him a short-lived headache. That left taste alone as a determining factor. Normally he was fed by tube, so flavours other than chalk were a rare luxury. Based on that – and rushed somewhat because he was leaving the general waiting – he chose, “Wine, please.”

He took the hint and removed his tie and coat as the general poured two glasses. They sat in armchairs and he listened as Hanas told him vain, inconsequential stories of his service to Cyprus and chattered patriotically about Enosis. The Soldier remembered to teeter as if all that alcohol were affecting him, and nodded agreeably at key points.

At Hanas’ “suggestion” (he knew a veiled order when he heard one), he moved from the armchair to the rolling desk chair, and from there ever closer, till they were very close indeed. Hanas took the opportunity to set one hand on the Soldier’s thigh and kept it there. Its presence made his mouth go dry; he couldn’t stop glancing down at it. Especially when that hand rubbed up and down his leg.

“Do you mind if I get more comfortable as well?” Hanas stood, hands already on his polished buttons.

It was a rhetorical question that required an affirmative answer. The Soldier’s masters sometimes did the same. “By all means,” he said, careful to slur a little.

The general stood directly in front of him as he took off his uniform coat. He was a tall man well-suited to looming. The Winter Soldier, of course, was not intimidated by this, but he sat quietly and watched as his mark stripped down. The general was fit underneath that mostly-shapeless coat, revealed all the more as he unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“Why don’t you do the same,” Hanas rumbled. That wasn’t really a suggestion, either.

And all at once the Soldier realised what this was.

He wasn’t suited to a honeypot mission. He lacked all social grace; he wouldn’t know how to seduce a mark with written instructions. And...they were both men. They were both men. How was this supposed to work?

He really hated complications.

A touch on his head startled him out of these troubling thoughts. The general slid his fingers across the Soldier’s scalp, through his hair, and oh, oh that was so good. To Hell with complications: he leaned greedily into Hanas’ hand, eager for human touch. There was no one around to punish him for acting on that craving, so he indulged with a little sigh.

“Your hair is a disgrace.” Hanas sounded amused. “But it does have an appeal. Ultimately I value loyalty over decorum. Trust is far more important, don’t you think?”

“Yes, General. Far more important.” The petting hand came around to stroke his cheek, then cupped his chin and lifted it to look up at Hanas.

“The most loyal are the most richly rewarded. Would you die for your country, Athanasios?”

The Soldier swallowed and held the general’s gaze. “I would do anything for the Guard, yes, die if I had to. My life belongs to the Ethnikí Frourá.”

The distinction hit its mark. Hanas smiled broadly. “Such a good lad. A strong, handsome lad. Do you want to show your loyalty?”

Oh God, this was about to get messy. He hid his face by turning to nuzzle Hanas’ hand. He must not show fear. “Any way I can, General.”

He didn’t miss the way Hanas’ breath hitched. He wished he could miss the bulge in Hanas’ pants, but it was right in his face. When the general spoke again it was quieter, almost strangled. “Have you ever been with a man before, Athanasios?”

The Soldier shook his head, then stopped. A glimmer of something hovered just out of reach – an impression of skin on skin, of a smile set in a face he couldn’t see, a whiff of scent he couldn’t place. As soon as it came it was gone again, and he shook his head once more. No, he can’t have. Surely he’d remember.

(That wasn’t not necessarily true. He knew Hydra took away the memories he didn’t need. Who knew what lurks in his past?)

Hanas remained looming over as he guided the Soldier to the arm chair...unbuckled his belt...unbuttoned his fly. The Soldier couldn’t look away. For all the nagging horror of what he was about to do, he couldn’t look away.

Soon the man’s prick sprang free, hard and pungent. Hanas aimed it with one hand and rubbed the hot satin tip over the Soldier’s lips, across his cheek. The Soldier sat stock-still as Hanas’ cock smeared dewdrops of fluid all across his face. Finally it came to rest on his mouth again, and he reflexively licked his lips.

“Do you know what to do with this?” Hanas asked, voice gone breathy.

He could figure it out pretty easily. Obediently, he opened his mouth, and a hand on the back of his head pushed him forward to take it in till it hit the back of his throat. He gagged; on reflex he closed his mouth around the hard flesh there, and Hanas gasped his pleasure.

“There’s a good boy, suck me,” Hanas said.

The hand on his head directed him to bob on it. He did his best not to choke first, and to provide suction second. This wasn’t what he was created for. This wasn’t what he was _for_ . The Soldier whimpered in protest. Hanas sighed happily and set both hands on the sides of his head. Instead of pulling him back and forth, the general held him still, and thrust his hips to fuck into his mouth. This wasn’t what he’s _for!_

“You learn fast,” Hanas sighed; “an...excellent quality in...a soldier. Ohh, such a good boy, use your tongue, good boy. Come on, suck me again, you’re so good at this. That beautiful mouth looks perfect stretched around a cock. I could fuck your sweet mouth for days.”

The grip on his head alternated between tugging to make him suck and holding fast so he was stationary for easy facefucking. He gagged a few times more. Tears prickled in his eyes. He grabbed hold of Hanas’ thighs for balance. If he wanted to, he could have easily overpowered this man and made him stop...but that would break the trust he’d built, and he would fail his mission, and punishment would be far, far worse than sitting in a plush armchair and sucking on a cock. He couldn’t fail. He’d get what he needed – by any means necessary.

Finally he threw himself into it: straining against the hands holding his hair, he slurped down Hanas’ cock as fast as he could manage without triggering his gag reflex again. He bobbed and sucked and lashed his tongue, and Hanas rained breathless, obscene praise down on him.

“Here it comes, swallow for me,” Hanas groaned, holding the Soldier’s head down. “Swallow it all.”

Hot, thick liquid burst in his mouth, and he choked again, but he obeyed and swallowed the bitter fluid down. Finally the cock withdrew from his mouth and he slumped forward, panting. Hanas’ hands were all over his head, petting him, stroking him, and he hated himself for how eagerly he soaked up the comfort after what he’d done.

The moment drifted away from him. Hanas bade him stand and together they staggered to the bed. As he stared into space Hanas pressed his half-full glass of wine back into his hand. The Soldier drank greedily, eager to replace the salty taste clinging to his mouth. For the first time he found himself wishing he could get drunk like a real person.

It felt like a bomb just went off: he was flayed open, head swimming, full of the shrapnel of questions he couldn't answer and emotions he couldn't name. The bed dipped beside him and Hanas was there, looming again and pressing the Soldier's body down with his own. The general latched onto the side of his neck with his mouth, and for a moment he couldn't breathe at all.

This was a new form of battlefield he'd never been trained to fight on. His enemy overran him with wandering hands and a laving tongue. He writhed under the man's touch – God, as off as he was he'd never been touched like this, like an object of desire instead of a weapon, and strange, soft noises of pleasure escaped him. The Soldier arched up into Hanas’ hands, though his throat grew tight with worry when the general started peeling off their clothes.

He wanted…something, anything – no, not _anything_ , he didn't want his mouth violated again, but those _hands_ – he needed to be touched again. He was dying for the indulgence. Tentatively, he set his own hands on Hanas’ sides. The general rolled his body against the Soldier's, and both their cocks stirred.

There was no doubt in his mind now that Hanas would fuck him. There was plenty of doubt as to how that was going to work.

“You are a rare beauty,” Hanas murmured against his skin. “I _must_ have you. You want to serve, don't you?”

The Soldier nodded. It wasn't even a lie. He existed to serve. To hunt, to kill, to obey. To be fucked, though? Not up till now...but this was necessary. This was mission-critical, and his fear meant nothing.

“Good boy.” Hanas smoothed a hand down the hard, lean muscle of the Soldier's chest as torso, across his aching groin, and back between his legs, pressing a fingertip against–

His body went stiff as a board. There?! If that was how Hanas planned to take him, he could think of a few immediate problems with that idea. A low noise of distress punched out of him, but Hanas shushed him.

“Relax, you'll like it,” the general promised. The Soldier made a dubious noise. The probing, massaging pressure against his hole was...strange. Not exactly welcome, not exactly bad. He tried to do as he was told and relax, but he couldn't help but clench when a fingertip breached him.

Abruptly, Hanas withdrew altogether, leaving a cold space over the Soldier's naked body as he stood. He rummaged in the desk for something: an ornate jar that produced a medicinal smell when opened. It reminded him of gun oil and liniment.

“Mustn’t ruin such a beautiful body with carelessness,” Hanas muttered. He set the jar on the bed, open. “Relax, let me take care of you. Then you can serve me again.”

Those fingers came back coated in grease and found their way back to where they’d been. It was too, much, too fast; he wasn’t ready for it. It happened anyway. He squirmed and gritted his teeth against the unfamiliar burn of being stretched open. His body wanted very badly to reject the intrusion. Hanas paid no mind: he stroked the Soldier’s flaccid cock till it started perking up again, thumbed at his sac, nipped at his belly.

He most certainly did not like it. Not until both fingertips rubbed against something _amazing_ , something that made him gasp and buck. “There, what, what is...right there,” he panted.

“I told you,” Hanas chuckled. “You can trust me, as long as I can trust you. Give in to me, Athanasios. Do as I say and good things will happen.”

“Ohh.” The Soldier rubbed his head on the thick down blanket and arched up. The pleasure soon outweighed the discomfort. Nothing in his recollection had ever felt so good.

The general’s free hand cupped his chin and forced him to look to his left. He locked eyes on himself: a full-length mirror stood nearby, putting his debauchment on display.

“Look at yourself. Taking it so well. Look how prettily you open for me.” Hanas spread his fingers wide. The Soldier could just make out the dark, secret inside of his own hole. “You can take even more than that, can’t you, boy?”

As if he had a choice. He understood his role: the drunken subordinate turned sybarite, desperate to please. His mark wanted him to want this, so he spread his knees wider and whined out a yes.

Hanas devoured him with lust-dark eyes. But instead of giving him more, he slipped his fingers back out; the Soldier restrained a sigh of relief. “We shall see. Put your fingers there, do it yourself. Use the mirror. I want you to see.”

The order hung in the air for a moment before it made sense. A moment of casting about found him the grease jar so he could slick his hand. He twisted on the bed to face the mirror and dipped his fingers down, finding his own skin sticky-wet. The middle finger seemed easiest. His hole resisted, then gave way. He watched his own reflection rock his hand in deep. His face went red both with the effort and something unpleasant and unfamiliar, something not unlike realising he’d failed a mission, but before the dread of punishment. Shame, he named it. Embarrassment. This wasn’t what he was for, and being made to watch such debasement taught him humiliation.

In his peripheral vision, Hanas was standing in the kitchenette fiddling with something. He, at least, was shameless in his nudity. When the Soldier dared a glance his way he was staring hungrily. Staring, and whittling some sort of root with a knife. Ginger, to judge by scent. A length of fine ribbon was draped across his neck like a tailor’s tape.

“Tell me, Athanasios,” Hanas said conversationally (as if he wasn’t watching a man sodomise himself with his own finger), “are you familiar with figging? No? It’s an ancient practise, originally used for punishment...but some use it for pleasure. And for some it’s a test of endurance. We must all be tested in some way.”

He set the knife aside and held up his handiwork: a mostly-skinned ginger root roughly the size and shape of a man’s finger, if a little thicker. He sauntered back to the bed and cupped his free hand around the back of the Soldier’s head. There was just enough of a grip on his hair to warn. He was to be obeyed. The Soldier stilled himself and waited.

Waiting, at least, was a very familiar thing.

“Hands and knees now. Then hold very still.” The order and the guiding hand were both deceptively gentle. The Soldier obeyed; some inner part of him sighed in relief at having orders, even simple ones. Something cool and wet touched his hole: not fingers again, but the ginger root. In an instant it became clear why this was used as punishment. It _burned_ , burned worse than being stretched out, burned like hot brands. He yelped and shuddered. It made his stomach lurch – but he held as still as he could.

This was a test. It was a test and pain meant nothing. He was the First of Hydra. He’d fought on broken bones, stood in a sniper’s nest for days, and braved blizzards. He forced his breathing to even out and let his mind drift somewhere far from here, where the burning inside him didn’t matter anymore and he couldn’t hear the noises his body made. Distantly he felt his hole twitch around the root, and the pain spiked, but he held steady all the same.

“Impressive!” Hanas crowed. He twisted the root and that threatened to drag the Soldier out of his quiet place. “You love to impress, don’t you, my showy, blue-eyed beauty. So eager to please. What a bright future you have.”

“Th-thank you sir,” the Soldier ground out.

Hanas stroked his back as one might a horse. “Tell me when you’ve had enough. Tell me when you’re ready to trade your figging for my cock.”

Sweat dripped from his brow, and he cried out, long and low. Would that hurt more or less than this? Would he impress Hanas more by withstanding the agony of the ginger root, or seduce him more by begging for his cock?

 _Fuck decision-making_ , he thought savagely.

After a few minutes the burn tapered off into a heat just shy of tolerable. It was about that time that Hanas gripped the unskinned base, drew it out, and pushed it back in again, steadily fucking him with it. The pain flared bright enough to steal his breath. He cried out again with each thrust till all he could do was whine between clenched teeth.

“Who do you serve?” Hanas’ voice was rough. So was his other hand’s grip on the Soldier’s hip, pulling him into thrusting motions.

 _Hydra, hail Hydra_ , his mind supplied like a reflex, but what he said was, “Ethnikí Frourá!”

“Who do you serve?” the general asked again.

He knew the correct answer this time. “Ioannidis!”

“Such a good boy, a loyal boy,” Hanas purred. “A good and loyal slut. How far will you go to prove yourself, hmm? What will you do to impress?”

He knew the correct answer to this, too. It was the same he gave his handler. “Anything,” he gasped, unable to stop himself from writhing now, “anything you want.”

“I want your cunt,” was the general’s immediate reply. He pulled the root free and tossed it aside. It still burned like it was still inside. Hanas crowded the Soldier up the bed, took him by the hip, and flipped him around. “Now that your virgin hole’s all warmed up for me. I know your kind, boy – just relax and enjoy it.”

The Soldier tried to hold still, he really did. But he couldn’t help but squirm as Hanas seized his cock and pumped it quickly; the general’s fingers were still a little wet from the grease. It didn’t take long to make him hard. No sooner was he erect than Hanas pulled the ribbon off his shoulders and used it to truss up both cock and balls.

He punched out a bewildered groan but didn’t have much time to wonder what the point of that was. All too soon Hanas had his own dick greased up and was forcing it inside. It hurt, it hurt, and he cried out but Hanas put a hand over his mouth. The general didn’t give him time to breathe, much less adjust, before he started pushing it in at a steady pace.

Hydra had burned the words _No_ and _Stop_ from his vocabulary. Instead he whimpered, “Please.”

He wouldn’t breathe a word of it, but God, he didn’t want this. He tried to go to his quiet place but zinging pressure on that pleasure-spot inside him kept him tethered to the present. Hanas rested most of his weight down on him, bit him, kissed him till he gasped for air.

“You feel so good,” Hanas grunted. “Here you are, boy, you got what you wanted. I knew you wanted me in your cunt from the moment we met. Do you have any idea how many young men like you have offered themselves to me? For power, for money?”

Pride flared in the Soldier’s chest. For a moment it burned right past his shame. “There are no men like me.”

Hanas threw his head back and laughed, and reached up to pinch the Soldier’s nipples. “Yes. You’re special, Athanasios. I’ll make you powerful. I’ll make you rich. Anything you want is yours, if you make yourself my whore.”

“Yes, I’m yours, oh, I’m yours.” There but for the grace of Hydra. He clenched his teeth and prayed to an empty sky it would be over soon.

His cock throbbed; his balls ached. They tried to draw up tight but the ribbon held them in place. Hanas held him down with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip. He spread his legs wider to try to get some relief from the searing pain in his hole, but Hanas only pounded him harder.

“Do you want to come, pretty boy? You can’t till I say you can,” Hanas panted. He turned the Soldier’s face to the mirror again so he could see the wet, turgid flesh sliding in and out of himself. “Take it for me. Look, look at yourself taking it. My special whore.”

“I want to come,” the Soldier groaned. Anything, if that meant it would stop hurting. “Please, please sir, let me!”

“Whose are you?”

“Yours,” he lied.

“Who do you come for?”

“You,” and he was telling the truth.

“Come for me, little slut.” Hanas tugged open the bow that held the ribbon tight, and the Soldier came with a shout and a sob. For just a moment it was like he was in his quiet place again, but better: pleasure struck like lightning and left him effervescent in its wake. Hanas fucked him right through it. “Good boy. Now it’s my turn.”

Hanas pulled out fast enough to make the Soldier yelp, greased himself up again, and seized the Soldier’s hips to roll him back onto his hands and knees. He kept a hand there and grabbed a fistful of the Soldier’s hair as he slipped back inside. The Soldier had thought he was getting fucked hard before. In hindsight, Hanas had been going easy on him: now he pulled out all the stops.

He couldn’t stop the stream of moans and cries falling from his lips. He spread his knees wide to compensate, and let himself get pounded into the bed. It seemed to go on forever. He’d never beg for mercy, but he sorely wished for it. The general’s balls slapped against his wet perineum with obscene smacks. Their hips crashed together, and Hanas’ cock rubbed ruthlessly against the pleasure-spot, making him squirm so hard his hips thrust back to meet him. Just when he could almost swear he couldn’t take any more, Hanas grabbed him by the waist, gave him three mighty thrusts, and poured the wetness of his orgasm into the depths of the Winter Soldier’s ass.

Hanas pulled out and kept his cheeks spread wide (after an open-handed slap to one cheek that made the Soldier squeal). Liquid dribbled out of him, but Hanas huffed, “Oh no you don’t,” and used his still-hard cock to force it back inside. “That belongs inside you. Roll over, boy, and put your hips up. Keep my come in your cunt till I get back.”

The Soldier did as he was told, holding onto his knees to keep his used-up ass in the air. The room sounded like static. He was only peripherally aware of Hanas showering; only peripherally aware of the wet tracks slipping down his cheeks.

When the general returned he was clad in a bathrobe, and he took some mercy on the Soldier at last: he cleaned the spunk from his torso with a washrag, and kissed him dizzy again.

“You did so well,” Hanas cooed. “Best of boys. Prince among fags. A credit to the Guard. I’ll see to it you want for nothing. Are you happy to be mine now?”

“Very happy, sir, you’re so generous.” He wasn’t sure he’d know what happy was.

“Mm. As I said, the most loyal are the most handsomely rewarded. Come, darling, I’m weary. You’ll sleep with me tonight.” Hanas clicked off the lights and together they slipped into bed: Hanas, curled possessively around his prize from behind, and the Soldier, still struggling to hold a load of semen inside.

Hanas slept soundly that night. The Soldier laid awake for many hours, shivering even though the bed was warm.

 

-o-

 

General Hanas was still sleeping soundly when the Winter Soldier slipped out of bed. His insides were no longer aflame, but the soreness of the night’s violations remained. Still, it was no challenge to remain silent while rifling through the general’s belongings. His eyes adjusted to the dark well enough to read missive after missive, file after file. He put everything back in its place precisely enough that even a perceptive man would notice no change.

The silicone sleeve held him up for an adjustment. It felt atrocious. It slowed the shifting of his plates, clinging nastily as they adjusted. It caused a constant, tickling static in his pressure sensors – the same reason he hated wearing shirt sleeves on the left. But his discomfort was meaningless, and he would endure.

He searched for a solid hour until finally, finally he found it: the ledger entry that specified a time and place where Galanos could be found. Three days hence, on the other side of the island. Plenty of time.

Careful as if he were handling glass, the Soldier closed the ledger and re-buried it under the papers that had been atop it. He finished just in time to hear the sharp inhale of Hanas waking up.

“What are you doing over there?” the man croaked.

Shit. The wine bottle was close at hand. He lifted it carefully, though chances were Hanas couldn’t see. “Thirsty.”

Hanas grunted. “Come back to bed.” 

He did as he was told. This time, he did drift off into a fitful, restless sleep.

 

-o-

 

Dawn peeked around the suite’s heavy curtains and found the Winter Soldier already awake. He itched to get the Hell out of there, but his orders were to avoid arousing suspicion at all costs. Hanas shifted behind him, and he discovered what that cost would be. He tried to arch away from the hard-on pressing insistently into the small of his back. Hanas muttered in his sleep and groped for him, pulling him closer. God damn it.

Matters did not improve when Hanas woke shortly afterward. The general kissed along the back of his neck, reached around to grope the soft meat of his groin, and shuffled to press their bodies together ass-to-cock. Cold trickled up the Soldier’s spine. He knew what was coming even before Hanas pried his cheeks open.

It didn’t slip in as easily as either of them hoped, but Hanas was determined, and the Soldier was submitting. He whimpered as it slid up, up, up inside him, spreading him back open where he was still sore. Hanas muttered nonsense into his nape and petted his hair. His thrusts were languid, lazy with sleep. It wasn’t that bad. He could convince himself it wasn’t that bad. There was no figging this time, though the dryness kept it uncomfortable.

Without warning, Hanas pushed him forward and slipped out with a groan. The Soldier wasn’t lucky enough for that to be the end, though. Hanas gestured vaguely at the bed. “Find the grease and come sit on it.”

Sit on the– no, he meant his cock. The Soldier schooled his face for the search. The ornate jar of jelly was on the floor. He smeared a generous coating on...the little general, considered his options, and used his slicked-up fingers to paint his own hole. Anything to make this easier to bear.

“Good boy,” Hanas purred, “clever boy. Come on, pet, have a seat.” He reclined with his arms pillowed behind his head and a self-satisfied smirk. Apparently the Soldier would be doing the work this time.

It took a few tries to get the right angle. Thighs bracketing the general’s hips, he rocked himself down until he was taking the whole thing. He took his time drawing up and sinking back down. No, it wasn’t that bad. It still wasn’t what the Fist of Hydra should be used for, but it didn’t feel terrible. Certainly not as bad as the night before. With the right angle, he discovered quite by accident, he could press Hanas’ cock against his pleasure-spot reliably enough that his own prick began to stiffen.

“That’s it, sweet boy, you love it, don’t you. You’ll get your fill of it, you have my word...I’ll fill your tight cunt every day.” Hanas stroked his thighs and belly and cock, tweaked his nipples, raked blunt nails over the swell of his pecs. “You have such pretty tits. I’ll fuck them too sometime.”

That was...that was fucking ridiculous. How would that even work. The Soldier tried to stop listening to the litany of mildly-insulting filth Hanas spewed at him, and focused instead on the sensations in his body. A nagging wrongness warred with pleasure but did nothing to abate his hard-on. He leaked clear fluid onto Hanas’ belly as he sped up. This had to end sooner or later, and he’d have to twist more, writhe more, squeeze more to make Hanas come so he could get away. The general grabbed his hips and fucked up into him just as he bore down. They fucked in counter-rhythm long enough that Hanas’ dirty talk gave way to animal sounds similar to the Soldier’s own. Hanas grabbed the Soldier’s wrist and put his hand on his own cock; he caught on and jerked himself roughly.

He’d never...he knew the men on his deployment teams did this to themselves, but he’d never. With that simple grip he was in control of his own pleasure. Last night he’d been powerless. Now he controlled how fast Hanas’ cock entered him; he controlled how his cock was touched.

It was a lot of responsibility.

“Come on, slut, paint me,” Hanas growled. “Better come soon, I’m about to fill you up!”

It only took a few more tugs and he was spilling over – thunderstruck again, clutching so tight around Hanas’ cock it felt immense, coming down as Hanas came inside him. He gasped for breath like he was drowning. Okay. He could see the appeal of sex now, at least.

Hanas patted his thigh and said, “Good boy. Go use the shower, you’re disgusting.”

The Soldier wasn’t sure just why that stung.

He inspected himself in the shower. Some minor tears detected in his anus and rectum, but otherwise he was undamaged. The damn silicone sleeve threatened to peel off at the shoulder, so he had to remain in the shower longer than anticipated to wrangle it back into place. Not that he minded. The hot water was an amazing luxury. The pleasures he’d experienced here were surely enough to make up for the….

They made up for it. They had to. They _had to_. The Winter Soldier couldn’t afford to be shaken by something that didn’t even damage him much.

It was stupid. This dragging heaviness in his chest meant nothing. It had no value. He would ignore it. He would carry on and it would go away, and he would complete his mission. His handler wouldn’t care. It wasn’t worth reporting. It was nothing.

This crushing feeling like he was drowning didn’t even have a name.


	2. The Debrief

The hit went off without a hitch. The coup would proceed as planned. 

The Winter Soldier had some leeway to leave out menial details of a mission in debrief, so long as it was successful. His handler didn't want to hear about a bird he saw or the description of everyone who looked at him. When it came time to report how he obtained Galanos’ whereabouts, he said that he got the intel from a General Hanas, and left it at that. 

At least, he was hoping to leave it at that. His handler had other plans.

“I know a thing or two about Hanas,” his handler said over steepled fingers. Civan Yilmaz was a distinguished-looking Turk with a sharp military bearing and broad silver streaks at his temples. He sometimes spoke as if he weren’t the Soldier’s only handler, but the Soldier couldn’t remember having had another. “He doesn't strike me as the sort to roll on a colleague easily. He'll be instrumental to the success of our Cypriot Division plans. You didn't do anything that would compromise him, did you?”

The Soldier's mouth went dry. A cold weight settled in his gut.  _ It means nothing. It means nothing. _ “No sir. I gained his confidence and found the intel in a ledger.”

“Gained his confidence?” Yilmaz’s voice lilted with amusement and disbelief. 

Wasn't that what he was supposed to do? He shifted his weight from one foot to another, and immediately chided himself for the show of nerves. 

“Soldier.” This time the tone was a warning. 

“I slept with him,” he answered quietly, staring at the table between him and his handler. His left arm’s plates shifted nervously. All eyes were on him: Yilmaz, the attaché taking notes, the armed guards who would slow him down if he snapped his metaphorical leash.

“Interesting,” Yilmaz laughed. “I'll be damned. Did you enjoy yourself?”

This was a trick question. It took better than that to fool the Winter Soldier. He tilted his head: “Irrelevant.”

His handler smirked. “Hydra appreciates your dedication.” The man regarded him with avid, calculating eyes, tapping a finger against his lips. He beckoned his attaché closer and murmured to her. The Soldier was not supposed to hear it, but his ears were very keen. “Go to the lab and fetch me a jar of petrolatum.”

The Soldier swallowed, eyes fixed to her retreating form. No, he'd been good. He'd completed the mission. He'd done exactly as he was told. Why did it feel like he was about to be punished?

But the debriefing continued all the same. The attaché returned and set a jar within his Yilmaz’s reach. It stole his attention time and again. He kept sneaking glances at it as if it were about to grow legs and charge him.

“Well done, Soldier, I'm very pleased with you,” Yilmaz said when at last they concluded. 

The Soldier restrained a smile and tucked his giddiness inside. The praise washed over him like rain. He stood straighter, and waited to be dismissed to Technical. Maybe he would get a clap on the shoulder or a hand on his hair as he left! Maybe his gut was wrong about the jar.

“Nadia, why don't you go pull the files for the IRA meeting,” Yilmaz said to his attaché instead. “I’ll meet you in my office after we're finished here.”

That cold lump in his stomach grew colder and heavier. That wasn't protocol. He watched the attaché leave again and felt himself deflate. 

Yilmaz beckoned him closer, so he trudged around the table, eyes downcast in submission. He fought the urge to lower himself since his handler was still seated. 

“I want to go over a few of the details from your mission. Hopefully you can clear some things up for me.” Yilmaz stood, taking in the Soldier with a long glance.

He stood very still as Yilmaz plucked at the leather straps of his vest. He wasn't stupid, no matter what his short-range team might think. All evidence pointed to a single topic for this discussion.

Yilmaz drummed pensive fingernails against a metal bicep. It tickled his plates into shifting up. “Your work is an inspiration. You are a masterpiece of Hydra engineering. But your skill set is very specific. I think we've underestimated your flexibility.”

He glanced up, silent. The praise sent a little thrill through him that was difficult to distinguish from fear. 

“Tell me, in detail, how you gained Hanas’ confidence. Step by step.” The man's eyes were hungry in a way they never had been before

The Soldier took a shuddering breath and looked down. “I was introduced to him at the National Guard event as planned. He seemed to like me. He also seemed very interested in intoxicating me.” At Yilmaz’s raised eyebrow, he clarified, “He kept giving me drinks. Wine, ouzo. I tried to pretend to get drunk. He invited me up to his room.”

Yilmaz nodded. “And what happened there?”

“He talked a lot. Then he...we took off our shirts and he...stood over me.”

He could talk about it. They were just facts. Things that happened. He didn't need to feel anything about facts. Emotional input was unnecessary. 

Yilmaz hummed and unlatched the chest straps that held his jacket shut. Once it was open enough to bare his chest, he was pushed down into the chair. His heart beat double time – he understood now.

He was Hydra’s property. His masters could do whatever they wanted with him – punish him, experiment on him, starve him, bid him kill – and he would obey, because obedience was his reason for being. They had never done this before, though. Perhaps it hadn't occurred to them to use a weapon this way until Hanas provided inspiration. 

He closed his eyes and tried to take pleasure in feeling his handler touch his bare skin for the first time. He would obey. It's what he was for. 

“What did he do, standing over you?” Yilmaz’s voice was low, his pulse loud. A hand sunk into his hair to pet and it was so exquisite for a moment the Soldier forgot to be afraid. Maybe his handler would be gentler than Hanas.

It took a few tries to get the words out. “He, um. He took out his, his penis, and he put it in my mouth.”

He left out the part about having it rubbed on his face. Left it out on purpose. His breath came fast – they would know, he was lying to his handler, he was being bad – but punishment never came. What he got instead might have been worse. 

Yilmaz cursed under his breath and unbuttoned his fly to free his dick. It was only halfway hard when he pushed it between the Soldier’s lips. The Soldier opened his mouth and took it in whole, spurred to make up for his lie-by-omission. It didn't choke him. Above him, Yilmaz cursed again. 

“And did you suck it?” Yilmaz growled, holding him close – he made it clear the Soldier wouldn't get to speak his answer. “Did you suck his cock?”

He couldn't form any words around the mouthful of hot flesh, so he hummed an affirmative instead. He swallowed on it, took a deep breath through his nose, and gave the man what he wanted. It grew harder and longer in his mouth till he couldn't fit it all. Still he sucked, bobbing his head as the hand atop it directed. 

It wasn't so bad the second time around. He knew what to expect; there was less gagging. At least, it wasn't until he remembered the guards. They were still posted by the door. They were watching him do this. His cheeks burned with sudden shame. He kept his eyes fixed on his handler’s belly – he couldn't stand to see them watching.

Yilmaz groaned quietly. The hand that wasn't guiding his motions thumbed at his lips and the hollows of his cheeks. “You're good at this,” he sighed; “you're a natural. Look at you go. Did he come in your mouth? Huh? Or did he fuck you?”

The carefully pushed back so he could talk. “Both,” he admitted.

“Both?!” Yilmaz laughed. “God, to be young enough to do that. Tell me how he fucked you.” (A strange choice of words. Both Hanas and Yilmaz appeared to be in their late 40s to early 50s.) He unscrewed the jar and a familiar medicinal scent made the Soldier want to dry heave. Or maybe run. 

But he had to speak. He had to obey. And this part was important: “He used his fingers first. There was – a sort of grease he used to make them slippery.”

“Like this?” Yilmaz tilted the jar of petroleum jelly so the Soldier could see, and he nodded. “Get up. Pants down, and lean against the table, feet apart.”

The Soldier closed his eyes to get just a second of reprieve. Then he stood, and followed orders. Of course he did. He got the thick canvas of his pants down to his knees and bent himself over. The weight of the gazes on him (they were watching,  _ they were watching _ ) crushed the air from his lungs. Try as he might to relax, he still let out a quavering sound at the first touch of greased-up fingertips to the cleft of his ass. The Soldier clenched his jaw to keep quiet as Yilmaz found his hole and rubbed circles against it.

In no time flat he was fogging up the table’s polished top with his panting. That skin was so sensitive. Hanas hadn’t lingered on it like this, and the Soldier was surprised to find it electrifying. His skin felt too tight. By the time Yilmaz started pressing for entry, he had to bite his lip to restrain himself from making noise.

“How many did he use?” Yilmaz asked patiently. “How many fingers did he put inside you?”

Oh God, he couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to describe this, let alone relive it. He had no choice.

“One,” he lied, and to his amazement his handler took him at his word again. But guilt-panic hit him in a nauseating wave, and he added, “To start with. One, and th-then two.”

Yilmaz steadied him with a hand on the crest of his hip, and rocked his hand until the sphincter gave way. Holding in a moan was almost too much. He’d healed up entirely; a single finger felt like a telephone pole.

“Shh, easy. I bet you could do without this, but I see why he did it that way,” Yilmaz muttered; “you’re tight.”

_ Not for long _ , the Soldier thought miserably. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to take what he was given. Though, he dared to hope that his handler would find that good place inside him so it would feel less disgusting. It wasn’t till Yilmaz deemed him ready for a second finger that he got his wish.

“Aaah!” He twisted and bucked backwards at the press of his handler’s fingers to that spot that send waves of pleasure up his spine. There was nothing good about being exposed and used like this, but his body reacted all the same. Behind him, Yilmaz stilled for a moment, then continued stretching him out.

“Is that good, this part right here?” His handler sounded amused, and deliberately rubbed the pleasure-spot. 

The Soldier whined and nodded. He was running hot. An ache started low in his gut, below his anxiety – the still-unfamiliar roil of arousal. Minutes ticked by with his handler’s fingers coaxing his hole wider. Little noises escaped him, grunts of discomfort amid pleasured sighs. For a moment or two he allowed himself to drift.

Yilmaz’ voice snapped him back to the present. “When he fucked you, how did he do it?”

Painfully. Hard. Against his will. The Soldier wet his lips. 

“On my back,” he reported, “and then on my hands and knees.”

Yilmaz hummed thoughtfully. He pulled his finger free and rolled the Soldier over. The Soldier, for his part, could read the room to see what was coming next, and inched up the table so his lower back was supported. Yilmaz grabbed an ankle to force his legs up against his chest.

More exposed than ever, and with his legs trapped by his pants, to boot. He squeezed his eyes shut and kept them that way while his handler slicked up and pressed his cock-head to the Soldier’s hole.

“How did he enter you?” came Yilmaz’s strained, heated whisper.

“Sir? I don’t….”

“When he put his prick in you. Did he take you fast or slow?”

“Slow,” he lied. All he could hope for was that Yilmaz believed him again. Why would Hydra’s loyal hound lie?

It pinched and burned but not nearly as bad as the first time. His mouth fell open – he was being split open – it was too much, too big! His back arched and legs shook from the strain. The instant Yilmaz bottomed out inside him was the moment he lost control of his mouth and shouted, half in pleasure, half in pain. He cried out at the first few slow, deep thrusts as well, before rallying and swallowing the noise. 

Yilmaz was quiet, too, if not silent. The wet sounds of sex filled the room for them, occasionally punctuated with a gasp or a groan. This cock was definitely bigger than Hanas’. It filled the Soldier up more than he thought possible. Every thrust was overwhelming, even beyond the instinct to reject it. 

His own cock throbbed with formless need. Heat and pressure built at the base of his spine. If only he could touch... _ could _ he touch? He reached for himself, then aborted the motion, uncertain of what was allowed. He wasn't trained for this. Again he was lost, hating that he didn't know what to do and wasn't receiving orders. Most of all he hated knowing that he was being watched.

Yilmaz muttered something about the Soldier's legs and withdrew. The relief was as immense as his dick felt. The Soldier got a precious second to breathe before he was being manhandled into rolling over again. Then Yilmaz was pushing back into him from behind, slow and relentless. The sensation of getting speared open again got the better of the Soldier, and he let out a long, low moan. 

“This is better,” Yilmaz huffed. “A shame you can't make yourself wet, but...ahh, so tight.” He rolled his hips till their bodies ground together. His nails raked down the Soldier's back and made it arch in surprise. Even more surprising, his hands roamed over the rippling muscles of the Soldier's squirming form and toyed with flushed, sensitive flesh: his nipples, his belly, his leaking cock.

The Soldier whined and swerved his own hips to strain towards that touch. If he wasn't allowed or ordered to stroke himself, he could at least encourage his handler to do it for him. His gambit was rewarded with a good, tight grip on his prick he could push into if he bucked along with Yilmaz’s thrusts. 

Oh, oh, it was better than being petted. His handler was so kind. A demanding master, a confusing one right now, but he didn't use ginger or ribbon, didn't call him  _ pousti tsoula mou _ . His thrusts were speeding up but they were nothing the Winter Soldier couldn't tolerate. 

If he let his mind go quiet and forgot about the guards watching him, maybe he could even enjoy it. He didn't have to tell anyone if he did. They couldn't take pleasure away from him if they didn't know about it. 

The one problem with that plan was his own responsiveness. He found himself an active participant in getting sodomised, thighs trembling and voice wrecked. Yilmaz responded to him in kind, with grunts and petting and quiet praise that went straight to the Soldier's cock. He loved being told he was good, loved every word of encouragement, and in the moment he'd almost be willing to take another figging just to hear his handler praise him so much. It was different than General Hanas' praise; this _meant_ something. He could endure being used for the sake of that, even if this wasn't the way he was ever meant to be used. 

“Please, please,” he whispered even though he wasn't sure what he was begging for. He wanted to hear he was good; he wanted to be struck by lightning; he wanted to be alone. He blinked, and in the wake of an especially hard thrust against that pleasure-spot he had a moment of clarity: he understood what he  _ needed. _

“What,” he licked lips gone dry from open-mouthed panting, “what are my orders?”

Yilmaz’s rhythm faltered, and he gave a breathless chuckle. “Come, Soldier, come for me. You came for him, didn't you? Come for your master now.”

Finally, finally. He was made to obey. 

The Soldier arched up and spilled hot seed all over the table and Yilmaz’s hand. For a few seconds having his cunt filled up was part of the ecstasy of coming, and his body was full of light. 

Yilmaz was merciful yet again: he gave the Soldier a moment of stillness to get his legs back under him (literally; his knees had given out). He patted the Soldier's rump as they both caught their breath. 

“Good, that was very good,” he sighed. He used the moment to wet himself back up with petrolatum. “Glad to know you're on board with this. Here we go....”

The Soldier inched his legs further apart and braced himself. A good thing, too: his handler started back up slow at first but soon built up speed, all without trading force. Soon he was calling out a quiet  _ ahh ahh ahh _ for every thrust. He grabbed a fistful of his own hair and dug his metal fingertips into the tabletop hard enough to splinter the surface.

“Watch it,” Yilmaz snapped. He paused balls-deep long enough to gather up the Soldier’s wrists and hold them at the small of his back. He crossed them at first, then used them as makeshift reins. 

A stress position. The Soldier knew this. It was a test. He would pass. He would be good and show his handler how strong he was, how good. Yilmaz would be proud of him for this too. He closed his eyes and let the strain in his shoulders and the slick joining of their bodies carry him away.

The clock on the wall twitched its hands along as Yilmaz took his pleasure, and the Soldier remained pliant for him. He grunted loud when he came. The sudden wetness deep inside was familiar by now. Yilmaz stayed where he was for a breathless moment before pulling out. Spunk and slick spilled out down the Soldier’s thighs to stain his pants.

Silence stretched out in the room. One of the guards broke it with a quiet cough. The Soldier hid his face by pressing his forehead to the table. He desperately wanted to not be aware of their presence, or better yet, for them to not be there at all. His handler rubbed his rump and patted him. That at least was good. He’d been given orders – including  _ implicit _ ones, which was new and confusing – and followed them. He’d been good.

It was like a mission, he told himself, and he’d seen it through to completion. _ Completion _ indeed. He clenched his sore, used hole back up as best he could manage. The hot drip of fluid down his legs might not be so unpleasant if he weren’t stuck lying there with an audience. Knowing they were looking at him like this, used and filthy, made him want to crawl under the table or shoot them through the eyes. Maybe both.

Yilmaz made no motion to clean the Soldier up. Surely he wouldn’t make him go to Technical in this state. Then again, he’d gone to them drenched in other people’s blood from head to toe a mere two weeks ago. His memory was hazy about what happened in that room but it was just another bodily fluid. It would be okay.

In his most secret of thoughts, the Soldier didn’t really like being covered in blood, either. It just wasn’t his call when or how to become clean.

“Ahh, it’s been ages,” Yilmaz sighed, sounding self-satisfied. “Yes, I really do think we’ve been underestimating your utility. The possibilities this opens! Who would have ever thought the Fist of Hydra would be so hungry for cock.”

But he wasn’t. Was he? Whatever Hydra said he was, he was. But he didn’t  _ want _ –

No, it didn’t matter. He tamped the protest down. His desires were immaterial. What he didn’t want was inconsequential. His input was not required; only his obedience. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not; he would do it. If his master said he was eager to be fucked, he would obey, and he would endure. His legs twinged vaguely, but Yilmaz’ hand was still resting on the curve of his behind, so he folded his forearms back under himself and stayed leaning over the table.

The shape of things to come loomed over him. That heavy feeling tugged at him no matter how hard he tried to tell it it was useless and shouldn’t be there.

“Remarkable, isn’t he?” The Soldier looked over his shoulder; Yilmaz was addressing the guards now. The guards exchanged a glance but remained silent. “Klebakhov, isn’t it? Come, give him a try.”

What?! No,  _ no _ , bad enough they were  _ watching _ – the Soldier didn’t answer to them! He didn’t serve  _ them! _

He sagged in relief when Klebakhov shook his head and said, “No thank you, sir.”

The man’s face was a mask of disgust. Fuck you too, Klebakhov, he didn’t ask for this.

_ But you did beg for it _ , a traitorous little voice reminded him.

Yilmaz hummed his disapproval. “What about you?” he asked the other one. “Recently promoted, weren’t you? I can see you tenting your pants over there. You might not get a second chance.”

The second guard set his rifle against the door and was already unbuckling his belt as he closed the distance. No, no, not for them. He did not serve them. The Soldier snarled and flipped over, nearly tripping over the pants that still bound his knees, and bared his teeth like a wild animal. The guard backpedaled; his partner took aim.

“STAND DOWN,” Yilmaz bellowed. It was like the crack of a whip.

The Soldier cringed back at once. He would be punished. He fucked up. Punishment was coming because he was stupid and couldn’t follow a simple implicit order to stay still.  _ Stupid _ . He’d gotten so much  _ praise _ and went and fucked it all up. He glued his eyes to Yilmaz to await his command.

“Present yourself,” was his handler’s order.

He blinked and said, “I don’t understand the order, sir.”

Yilmaz snorted. Fearless, he strode forward to take the Winter Soldier by the hair. A firm grip guided his asset back into the same position: chest on the table, ass in the air, feet apart. “Why did you do that?”

The Soldier gulped air. He’d already lied so many times, he couldn’t do it again. “I don’t serve guards, I serve  _ you _ .”

“And  _ I’m _ telling you that you’re going to service him like a good bitch,” Yilmaz told him plainly. He tightened his grip on the Soldier’s hair. “You’re lucky that I don’t call in a team to teach you a lesson. But your backside is a delicacy, not scrap for dogs. Still, until we have protocols in place for your use, you  _ will  _ spread your legs for anyone I tell you to.”

Yilmaz let go and stood back. The Soldier fought to get his breathing under control. The noises behind him told him that the guard was unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. Jerking himself to finish getting hard. Any second now the man would–

The Soldier let out a trembling noise. He was still dripping wet and stretched out enough that he was easy to penetrate. The guard took full advantage of this: his cock drove all the way inside on the first thrust.

This man did not hold back the way Yilmaz had. He drove hard, seeking only his own orgasm. He didn’t deserve this.

No, no, that wasn’t the Soldier’s call. He swallowed down his resentment and pushed back so he could bend his knees. Getting his legs wider made it easier to take.

And take it he did. 

He didn’t need to be present for this. He folded himself away to his quiet place. He was in a park he’d seen in Moscow. Only the trees were black cherries and magnolias, and they were redolent with flowers. He was by a lake under the fragrant trees. He wasn’t there to kill anyone. There was someone with him, someone facing away to watch the water, someone who held his hand and said  _ It’s a good thing we found this spot, it’s quiet here, real nice _ in English. A stiff breeze rocked him as he pressed his face to the person’s bony shoulder. He was sitting on something uncomfortable, but he was okay. He was okay.

The vision started falling apart when the crackling pressure in his gut, balls, and spine grew too great to ignore. He sucked in a breath, and he was coming, and he was back in the boardroom getting fucked in the ass, and he yelped with the shock of it.

He had no idea how long he’d been checked out. He was flushed and sore, but worst of all, the knowledge that he was still being observed crawled up his back like worms beneath the skin. This unworthy man was still taking him. The other guard was still watching. Yilmaz was still at his flank, watching with cold yet avid interest.

Going away hadn’t prevented a goddamn thing. It had just staved off the truth for a little while. His breath hitched and the noise was swallowed up by the wet slap of skin against skin.

_ Obey. Obey. _ That’s what he was for.

The guard came soon after. Just more liquid added to the mess. After all that it was terribly mundane in the end. The man pushed the Soldier forward to free himself, and his footsteps retreated back towards the door. 

A quiet “Thank you, sir,” made the Soldier close his eyes. Being bitter would get him nowhere.

“There, that was much better,” Yilmaz purred, rubbing a hand across his back. “An excellent performance. Pull yourself together now, Soldier. You’re keeping the technicians waiting.”

The Soldier pushed out a sigh. He stood, pulled up his pants, buckled his belt and vest. He made a face and shifted in place; his ass ( _ cunt _ , he caught himself thinking of it as) was a sloppy mess. That stupid clenching feeling rose up like nausea as he stared at the mess he’d left on the table and floor. Maintenance would clean it up. The cracks in the table would remain forever as testament to his obedience and his shame.

It didn’t make any sense to feel like this. He’d been good. Mostly. He’d completed his missions; he should be aglow with satisfaction. But as he marched to Technical with filth between his legs and those same guards at his back, a future filled with more of these missions spread out before him, and he felt like he was being crushed by a mountain without a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of probably-inaccurate Greek: "my faggot slut"  
> \--  
> Phew! This was banged out over the course of about four days, so it's rough. Comments & critique welcome.


End file.
